


Yuletide

by zemyr



Series: A Fleet Admiral's Witcher adventures [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Prostitution, Semi-Public Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zemyr/pseuds/zemyr
Summary: Two lonely, grieving men find common ground and activities during the holidays.
Relationships: Foltest/Vernon Roche
Series: A Fleet Admiral's Witcher adventures [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459300
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Yuletide

**Author's Note:**

> Underage prostitution is in the past, but referenced.
> 
> All my love to the amazing [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/profile) for beta-reading <3

Vernon Roche groaned as he put a little more weight on his wrists. The rough hemp rope bit into the soft skin, adding a new variation to the constant hell he did not really care if he would survive. 

The pain in his wrists distracted him from the cold wind biting into the open wounds running down his back and sides. He had taken plenty of whippings in the past, but never like this. Welts, some broken skin, sure, but none of them had torn flesh from the bone. In addition to a whipping that would most likely kill him, and a hangover that should have finished him off on its own, there was the reason that he had ended up in this position in the first place. 

He knocked his head hard against the sign post they had tied him to so he would not have to think about it. He was in enough physical pain as it was, there was no use adding emotion to the mix as well. The pain mixed in with the rest of it, so he rested his head against his arm and blinked slowly. He was dimly aware that he had seen noon not long ago, and now the sun was bright red, swallowed by the horizon. Logically, something had happened in the meanwhile, and then there were horses and soldiers crossing the bridge. He closed his eyes against the light of the torches.

“Just a drunk, your grace.”

“Drunk enough to deserve death from exposure at Midinváerne? Yule is a time for mercy, not cruelty.”

“More to it than just drink, sire. He left his station to hide a dead woman in the woods, found him crying over the grave drunk off his arse, sire. It is a hanging offense in the army, but the lieutenant wanted to make an example of him since he’s just a courier.”

“What is his name?”

“Vernon Roche, sire.”

Roche drifted in and out of consciousness, lost the rest of the conversation and only registered pain and movement when he was taken down from the signpost and then he was hanging over the back of a horse like a gutted deer. 

The streets of the capital were quiet and empty in the cold, there was only the clap of horseshoes against cobblestone and the rustle and clink of armour and weapons. The horse was scorching hot under Roche’s bare chest as they stopped, there was a pinch in his thigh, and when he next woke up he was resting on deep, warm furs in front of a roaring fire. His back was numb and there was a scent of herbs on the air, herbs and food and wine. 

Roche blinked, but did not dare turn his head just yet in case he was still hanging off that damned signpost and this was all in his mind. He had no friends in the armed forces, he knew some of the whores, mostly those he had grown up with and if they had not already resented him for the last couple of years as Roche had gotten employ in Foltest’s army, they sure did now after his last bout of failures. 

He was not sure who would have found enough pity in their hearts to get him indoors, cleaned up, healed up and wrapped up in bandages like this, which was mostly the reason why he was speculating that he was actually dead or dying out in the cold and that this was his brain trying to make his passing easier. Lost in his own thoughts, he did not react to the presence of another person in the room before someone knelt, then sat down next to him and the scent of tea reached his nose. 

“Don’t get up, you are still at risk of infection.” The man sounded calm and perhaps a little tired as he stroked the back of his fingers over Roche’s face. It took him a few seconds too long to realise he was in the presence of his king. 

“No, stay down,” Foltest said, pressing Roche down onto the furs when he tried to move. “Do not aggravate the wounds. The medicine needs time to work.”

“Majesty…,” Roche whispered, dizzy with adrenaline and blood loss, falling quiet when Foltest shushed him and started stroking his hand over Roche’s short cropped hair. 

Perhaps he was dead. This was not something that should be happening, he should not be here, in what had to be Foltest’s private chambers, stripped down to his breeches and being petted by his king. At the very least it could have felt horrible, made him feel sick to his stomach like whenever men touched him when he was helpless like this. 

“That’s better,” Foltest said, his voice as soft as the hand stroking Roche’s hair. “You are in no danger here; you are under my protection.”

Roche considered protesting, or at the very least ask all the normal stupid questions, but he was warm for the first time in what felt like years and the hand on his head felt too good to give up. Besides, Foltest was dressed in simple dressing robes and sheepskin slippers, he wore no armour, crown or rings. He was off duty, as much as a king could be off duty. 

Foltest did not seem to be in a mood to talk and Roche was not going to question his king, not when the man was the one to help him drink, then reapply the numbing, strong smelling ointment on his back, not when it was Foltest himself who knelt by the fireplace and added more logs onto the warm, red embers, gently urging the dry wood into catching fire. Roche had expected servants, courtiers, assistants, the kind of people he always saw surrounding the king whenever he descended to street level but they were entirely alone in the room. 

He must have slept at some point because he woke up feeling marginally better. He was very thirsty, but before he could even try thinking about water, he had to do something about his bladder or things would go badly for everyone involved. 

Roche winced as he got up onto his knees and crawled out from under the warm furs. The cloth on his back was stuck to his skin by the ointment and some bandages securing it into place, so he sat up carefully, looked around, realised he was entirely alone in a room he did not know in a castle still under construction. It had to be the winter-palace, as it was called. Rumor did say Foltest was neglecting the other one.

He tried the door first. It did not budge, there was no key and when he tried opening a window it swung open to reveal a cesspit filled with spikes just under water level. Jumping was not an option. The snow drifted in along with the freezing cold, so he quickly shut the window again and looked around, opening cupboards and doors with increasing desperation until he finally found the privy concealed behind a tapestry. 

It was a surprisingly nice little room, compared to what Roche was used to. The walls were insulated with carpets, the chair itself had a hardwood seat polished to within an inch of its life and the drop deep enough that he did not actually freeze his balls off before he could wash himself up. 

He was just about done pulling his clothes back on when the sound of a heavy, new and well-oiled door slammed shut in the main room, then there was a pause. 

“Vernon?”

He froze, staring at the door as it opened slowly and revealed Foltest in full, kingly regalia. Foltest looked him up and down with an unreadable expression and Roche waited for the death sentence until the corners of the king’s eyes wrinkled with a near invisible smile. 

“I will not punish you for taking care of your needs,” Foltest said as he opened the door fully and stepped inside, and to Roche’s mind-numbing horror reached down to button up the front of Roche’s breeches. “Please accept my apologies for not showing you around before I left. You looked like you needed the rest, and I did not wish to wake you.”

“Majesty….” Roche whispered, about to drop down onto one knee, gasping in surprise and pain when Foltest caught his full weight and hauled him back up onto his feet. 

“You are still weak, you must be starving,” Foltest mumbled against the side of Roche’s head, shifting his grip on him so he did not scrape at the wounds on Roche’s back. “I had some food brought up, you can eat while I get into something more comfortable, hm?”

Roche could do nothing but nod, one did not say no to one’s king, after all. He was carefully helped back to the main room by Foltest, and the king put one of the warm furs into a chair before putting Roche into it, then placed a tray of cold cuts and bread and butter in front of him. 

“Eat,” Foltest said as he poured a generous mug of tea and placed it in Roche’s numb hands. “Please.”

Roche did as he was told. It was easier by now to follow orders than to try and think independently, especially when Foltest walked over to a dresser and started taking his gear off. Eating gave him something to do with his hands. 

The crown was placed upon a stand, as was the chain mail hood, the coat of arms, the heavy, gilded necklace and the gambeson he wore underneath his other chainmail. The man seemed to shrink as he took his clothes off, and as he was down to his near transparent white silk shirt and a pair of black trousers, Roche could see how well built he was underneath it all. The king was not excessively muscular, he was a fit man in his early forties, a young king who still enjoyed hunts, riding and putting in a solid day’s training with his men. Roche turned his head and looked at the food, picking through it without much appetite as Foltest stripped out of his boots and trousers as well, putting it all neatly away before putting the lambswool slippers back on along with the fluffy dressing gown with the massive sleeves that he had been wearing earlier.

“Tell me, is your back any better?” Foltest asked as he sat down in a chair next to Roche and poured a mug of tea for himself. 

Roche just nodded with his mouth full of cured ham. 

“Good,” Foltest said with a strange little smile as he helped himself to some food as well. 

They ate in a surprisingly comfortable silence, and after Foltest had apparently had his fill, he got to his feet and walked over to the fireplace. Roche watched as the king knelt on the cold slate stones lining the floor in front of the fireplace and drank deeply from his mug as Foltest started stacking wood on top of the white ashes of the night’s fires. 

He was surprised to see that Foltest knew how to build a proper fire and cared about them enough to routinely maintain them himself. There was none of the stacking the wood like the ribbons of a maypole thing that he usually saw officers do, but the more sensible cross-stacking that did not burn wood excessively and would last longer. He paused with his mug to his lips as Foltest lit some kindling with an expert strike of steel to flint, watched him blow gently on the smouldering dry grass as he brought it to the top of the neat stack of wood where the flames could feed on thin, try twigs. 

“You look surprised,” Foltest said, and Roche blinked as he realised he had been staring at the fire, not even noticing that Foltest had turned around. 

“I didn’t…” Roche started, trailing off as his brain caught up with his mouth and shut it down. 

“Not a skill worthy of a king?” Foltest asked, but he sounded more amused than angry, so Roche chanced a nod. Foltest smiled as he looked over his shoulder at the fire warming his back. “I watched my father rule these lands,” he said as he got to his feet, slow and lazy like a content cat after a good meal. “He was not a good king; he was ignorant and cruel. He would not know the back from the front of his own stallion had not the stableboy been there to turn the horse the right way around for him. After so many years watching him being quietly but consistently mocked for his ignorance by his subjects, I decided to not be that kind of king. Have you finished eating?”

Roche just nodded, but Foltest did not seem to mind his silence. The king merely helped him to his feet and grabbed the large jug of now lukewarm tea, bringing both Roche and the drink over to the mattress in front of the fireplace. He helped Roche sit down and put the jug next to Roche’s feet before joining him, so close their thighs and shoulders touched. 

Roche took the mug offered to him and drank. It was safe enough, and he was still thirsty. Foltest re-filled his mug when it was empty. 

“I decided to not be ignorant,” Foltest said, his voice low, as if his words were meant only for Roche, which was a strange feeling as the only other being alive in the room beside himself and the king was the fire warming their toes. “My father’s cruelty was born from ignorance, he did not understand the world, so he lashed out with hatred at that which confused him. I know not only the back from the front of my horse, Vernon. I know what it eats, I know what it shits and how to remove it. I know how to replace its shoes, how to make the horseshoe. I know how to brush it down, care for it, I have ended my horse’s life when my recklessness caused it to break a leg. I might not be skilled enough to make a good horseshoe, nor can I attach it perfectly, but it means I know how to respect the work of those who do. I try to know as much as I can about my people, their challenges, their daily lives.”

“It includes building fires and healing, you maj-”

“Please. Use my name when we are alone.”

“Foltest,” Roche whispered, resisting the urge to glance about the room for some sort of immediate punishment coming for him. He jumped a little where he sat when Foltest placed his hand on the bandages around Roche’s left wrist.

“It includes healing, yes,” Foltest said as he stroked his thumb across the soft white gauze, ignoring Roche’s reaction if he had even noticed it in the first place. “Healing, cooking, the details of warfare, how it is to sleep in the tent of our lowest ranked soldiers. I walk in their boots, literally. I do not have my own bootmaker; I choose my pair from the selection offered to my men.”

“But… why? You are the king,” Roche asked, his voice sounding more like a croak than anything. 

“I did tell you,” Foltest said patiently. “It makes me understand the struggles of my subjects. Now help me understand why your lieutenant was angry enough with you to think you deserve execution by having your skin torn off your back and leaving you to freeze.”

Roche tried to school his expression, but if the way Foltest’s hand shifted from his wrist to his shoulder was anything to go by, he had already failed. He had thought he had cried all the tears a body could produce many years ago, but yesterday had proved him wrong and it seemed today would do so as well. 

“From what I gathered,” Foltest started, speaking slowly and carefully. “Some men saw you carry a dead woman from the city and into the woods where you buried her and then you got very, very drunk while on duty. I am sure you had your reasons, and I need to know them.”

Roche did not wipe the tears away, knowing that would draw more attention to them than if he did not, he just watched them drip from his chin and into the furs on the mattress that had been his bed for the night. 

“She was clearly important to you,” Foltest said as he turned around, sitting with his back to the fire next to Roche’ knee. Roche shivered as soft, dry fingers stroked along his ear and down along the back of his neck. 

“‘t was my mum,” Roche managed to say, he tried to choke the sob down by drinking some more but Foltest picked the mug from his hands and he tried and failed to stop Foltest from pulling him close. The arms around his shoulders hurt as much as they soothed and he found he welcomed the pain, just as he had welcomed the whip tearing through his back, a physical equivalent to the torment in his heart. 

“Tell me what happened,” Foltest said, once Roche had stopped trying to squirm his way out of the embrace. Foltest had no intention of letting him go, but he had not told him to stop, or to quieten down either. “Tell me how she died.”

“She…” Roche started, pausing to catch his breath as Foltest’s fingers rubbed circles into the soft, short hair on the back of his head. “She fell ill. ‘Bout five months ago she found a lump in her breast. She didn’t tell anyone until she started coughing up blood and by then…they said it’d take a wizard or a sorceress to cure her. I couldn’t get the money together, so she died.” 

“Why the woods?” 

“It was her last wish. She was a whore,” Roche whispered, and closed his eyes when Foltest finally released his firm grip on him. He lowered his head, expecting the usual scorn, but all that happened was that Foltest used the very expensive cuff of his sleeve to pat Roche’s face dry. “She didn’t want to be buried in any sacred ground, she wanted to be buried in the woods. Free, after months of illness. It sounds stupid, but…”

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Foltest said as he took Roche’s hand in his. “In my kingdom, fulfilling your mother’s last wish and expressing your grief for her is no capital crime. If I could spend as long as I did breaking furniture and howling at the injustice of the world when my Adda died, then I think you are excused one night for someone as important as your mother, no matter her origins or her profession.”

Roche nodded. He felt drunk, even though he had not had a drop of alcohol in a couple of days, so when Foltest dragged a basket closer and found a set of shears which he used to cut the bandages off Roche’s torso, he just sat still and waited. 

“Tell me about her?” Foltest asked as he started cleaning the old ointment and pus out of the wounds. Roche closed his eyes, wondering vaguely what his back looked like. Whatever Foltest had put on it had numbed his back, it was wearing off but the bite of the cloth was not bad yet. It seemed the king knew what he was doing. 

“She was born into it, like I was,” Roche mumbled, touching his eyelids with his fingers to check if they were as blotchy as they felt. “She had me when she was… seventeen? Maybe. Most of us don’t count birthdays.”

“I thought most prostitutes in town had access to remedies that would prevent such. How come she kept you?”

“Camp followers can run out of supplies while on the road,” Roche said, gritting his teeth as Foltest cleaned some of the deeper cuts across his ribs. “The girls have their herbs, then when they’re about to run out they just use lower and lower doses hoping luck is on their side. I was just an accident, I suppose, I never asked.”

“Did you live with her?”

“Yeah, mostly following the soldiers,” Roche mumbled, breathing a sigh in relief as Foltest shifted position behind him and started smearing more of that smelly ointment into his back. It felt warm and cool at the same time, but most important of all it took the ache away. “Sometimes we had to stay in brothels, but she saw that as the worse option, rent is higher if you bring a kid along and there’s a lot of creeps.”

“That is a rough start to life,” Foltest said as he picked out a fresh sheet of linen and draped it over Roche’s back. He wrapped it securely in place with bandages before getting to his feet again. “How old were you when you started working?”

“Don’t know,” Roche said, his animal-brain overruling the fact that he was talking about this so casually with his actual, living and breathing king. The king that was now dragging pillows and water and mugs over to the fireplace with the single-minded determination of a guy not having any plans of going anywhere. 

“You don’t know?”

“No, I was.. I started doing odd jobs for coin for the soldiers when I was big enough to clean boots, but I don’t know when I started… that.”

“Whoring yourself out,” Foltest said as he eased down on the pillows and got comfortable after topping up his mug. “Say it as it is, Vernon, we all sell our skills and our bodies in one way or the other, there is no shame in it. How come you cannot remember? It seems like something that would stick. I could likely tell you everything about the time when I lost my virginity, the time of day, date, how many thrusts I managed before I emptied my balls, although those could be counted on one hand.”

Roche smiled slightly despite the dry, itchy feeling in his eyes and relaxed a little when he saw Foltest’s amused expression. 

“You really don’t remember?”

Roche shook his head slowly. “Never paid attention.”

“Because you drink?”

Roche did not reply, but he did not have to. A vague memory at the back of his mind stirred. The lieutenant talking to Foltest while Roche was being cut down from the signpost. Foltest probably knew a lot more than he was letting on, Roche’s rocky road to carrying a sword in the king’s name was well known for most of the squad he had been working for. 

“Surely such a thing is memorable, whether it is good or bad,” Foltest said as he stretched out his long, slender legs towards the fire. 

“I started drinking properly when I was… eight?” Roche mumbled. “It was easier, so no. I remember starting to wake up and knowing something had happened, the smell and taste of it, filth if they didn’t clean me up. But I can’t remember when it was.”

“Did you ever stop?”

“Stopped getting paid once I became a soldier.”

“So, you have a lover, or…?”

“No,” Roche said, his voice harder than he intended. He drank some more tea to cover the embarrassed blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Why this interest in my…?” He made a vague, nondescript gesture with his hand at the fire, then did the mistake of turning his head and looking at Foltest. 

The king was huddled up in his robes in the pile of pillows, looking for all the world relaxed and easy but the reflection of the fire in too shiny eyes gave him away. Foltest was rambling like soldiers would ramble on, asking pointless questions or detailing some sort of insignificant event until they forgot the punchline and the others would listen, because listening to a half hour long story about fixing a frayed shoelace was a lot better than sinking their minds into the cesspits of their own nightmares. Soldiers never talked to other soldiers about that kind of darkness, but sometimes they spoke to whores, whores were paid to suck cock, not use their ears or offer advice. Other times they needed to silence their own minds with sex, drink and the stories whores could tell. 

Foltest was a king, but he had suffered loss as well. His sister, pregnant with his child, she had died just about a year ago as far as Roche’s unreliable memory could recall. 

“I’m just not very good at saying no,” Roche admitted. Foltest had saved his life. Roche could tell stories to Foltest in return, it was not like he had any dignity to hold dear. “The soldiers know that as long as they don’t harm me, I don’t really mind what they do to me. And they always pay in one way or the other. Favours, drink. Looking the other way when I am drunk.”

“But no-one special. No-one closer to you than the others?”

“No. I had friends among the whores but they stopped talking to me once I got the courier job, whores are very loyal, but only to their own. And I think it will be worse now, as I couldn’t help mum.”

“Vernon?” Foltest said, holding a hand out in Roche’s direction. “Please. Come here.”

He had expected this to happen, and truth be told he did not mind. Foltest did not seem cruel, but he would not be the first one to show his good side first and then demand repayment for his kindness either. He moved carefully, got up onto his knees and crawled over to the king and knelt next to him, expecting orders. 

He did not get orders. 

The second option was usually hands. Some would kiss him, if they needed to pretend at romance before fucking him and some did, they would touch and grope and feel for excitement that was rarely there and make him hard if they were of the white knight variety, but Foltest did not touch him, he just sat there, looking at Roche’s face.

“You were the one that brought me the news about the Usurper’s fall,” Foltest said after a few moments, having apparently just recognized him. “I gave you that job.”

“I am grateful,” Roche said, reigning in the ‘majesty’ before it could escape him, but Foltest heard it anyway. 

“I am your king,” Foltest said, speaking slowly and clearly. “I expect your obedience. But I also expect your honesty, I expect you to express your wishes, opinions and needs. I expect you to tell me when I am wrong, but I expect you to do so without defying me. Do you understand?”

“... not quite yet, but I’ll get better,” Roche replied, knowing this was not the time for lies. It was apparently the right answer, Foltest’s expression melted into something oddly soft as he reached up, his fingertips touching the back of Roche’s arm. 

It was not an insisting touch. He had every chance to back away but he did not want to, so he leaned forward on his hands and let Foltest guide him. 

They negotiated their position without a word, Roche not wanting to put his weight on Foltest but Foltest quietly insisting that he should, so in the end Roche ended up more or less draped over Foltest’s chest, his head resting on the soft fur of the robe. He could not hear Foltest’s pulse through the thick fluff, but it was warm and it kept pressure off his back. He closed his eyes when Foltest’s hands stroked over the back of his head, brushing the little hairs at his neck the wrong way over and over. He waited for Foltest to fall asleep, planning to disentangle himself somehow and let the king rest in peace, but the fingers were hypnotic, and he was sober and horribly exhausted so before he knew it, he was drifting off into dreamless sleep. 

¤

It was dark when he opened his eyes. Dark and slightly cold, the fire had burnt down completely and the castle was eerily quiet, so it took him a while to realise that he was sleeping on top of a living creature. 

Foltest. 

He lifted his head slightly, and in the moonlight let through by the windows he saw that Foltest was still awake. 

“Can’t sleep?” Roche whispered as he pushed himself up onto his knees. 

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Foltest said with a small smile as he got up with a grunt, stretched and trotted off to the privy. Roche watched him go and shuffled carefully over to the fire to get it going again. He found some still living embers in the pile, gathered them up with a piece of wood and pressed some smaller pieces into the glowing coal until the sticks caught fire. 

He was sitting on the mattress by the fire again when Foltest returned, bare feet soundless against the cold rock as he slowly walked over to join Roche again. Roche moved when Foltest knelt next to him. He froze and looked up when fingertips touched his chin. 

“Tell me if I go too far,” Foltest whispered, and only when Roche nodded did he kiss him. 

For having been a whore for most of his life, Roche was not accustomed to kissing. Kissing was normally done by those who liked to pretend they were seducing him and since it usually paid better, he tended to just endure it on the rare occasion it did happen.

It felt odd. Foltest did most of the work, he was gentle and careful but still it just felt odd with slick muscle moving around without point or purpose, so he tried to copy the movements as best he could. He could feel Foltest’s smile, knew he did not do a good job at faking it and breathed a sigh of relief when Foltest stopped, sat back slightly and ran his fingers down Roche’s neck. 

“Was that all, your grace?” Roche asked, just to yank Foltest out of whatever mental pit he was stuck in. Foltest looked up, meeting his gaze. 

“I planned to take you,” Foltest admitted as he stroked his thumb over Roche’s lips. “But, like a princeling leading his first battle, I have a clear idea of the results I want but no clue how to get there.”

“Because I’m male?”

Foltest shrugged, and it was such a pitiful, uncharacteristic admission that it had to mean something else. It was a way out, for Roche, he could just grab the chance and laugh this little incident off, but something nagging at the back of his mind refused to let go. 

He wondered if Foltest had ever taken a lover since his sister. First it had been a topic of fun among the soldiers, then as the months passed, a reason to worry. Kingdoms had fallen to grief in the past, and Foltest had not only lost his lover that night, he had lost his only sister and daughter as well. The kingdom was ready for Foltest to pursue new paths to securing his succession but evidently Foltest was barely able to kiss someone who was not Adda.

“Could always ask a specialist for help,” Roche said, walking onto thin ice with no lifeline as he placed his hand on Foltest’s knee. He watched Foltest’s profile closely for any reaction at all as he parted the robes and got his hand on warm skin, feeling the hairless, smooth plane of the inside of Foltest’s thigh. He only realised Foltest was holding his breath when he reached his cock, feeling the silky, soft skin tighten as it filled in his hand. 

Foltest let out a shaky breath when Roche gave it a gentle squeeze. “A specialist,” he whispered, his lips soft and wet against Roche’s bare shoulder. 

“A king cannot know everything,” Roche said as he felt the full length of Foltest’s cock. It was nothing intimidating, slightly curved, with a nice, thick head. “I could take care of this.”

Foltest did not give any indication in one way or the other. Roche was used to that. He was not used to handling it while sober, but Foltest was showing every sign of a guy who had gotten his hands on a male whore for the first time, having a lot of fantasies in his head but no practical experience to back up the grand ideas. 

It was a gamble to take the first step. It always was, sometimes the northern idea of sex between men being against the laws of nature kicked in and Roche would be the one to take the punishment for providing temptation, but the chance for that tended to lessen the higher up the ranks of power the men were. No-one ranked higher than the king.

He parted the robe a little more and shuffled back, eased down on his side into a comfortable position across Foltest’s legs and stopped when Foltest placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back slightly. 

“Are you…?” Foltest whispered, not able to put the question into words.

“May I?” Roche asked, nodding down to Foltest’s leaking and still very interested looking cock. “If the world implodes because of the unnatural sin you can blame me for it.”

Foltest snorted a laugh as he let go of Roche’s shoulder. “You are a heretic, Vernon, bringing yourself low like this.” 

“That’s the idea,” Roche said as he licked his lips. “Sin enough that when I do fall in the end, the impact will do minimal damage.”

“Do you always ch-ohfuck…”

Roche hummed, pleased at Foltest’s reaction as gentle hands touched his head and neck. It felt weird doing this without half a bottle of booze to switch his brain off, being sober meant he had to think about what he was doing and actually picking up on signals from Foltest. What worked for him, what did not. There was a taste to it as well, taste and scent and being aware he had hands he could use.

Foltest was patient with him. He did not speak, the only sound was Foltest’s heavy, controlled breathing and the wet, slick sounds of Roche taking cock deeper and deeper into his throat to try and break that control.

It was harder than he thought it would be, or maybe it was much the same. Perhaps it was because he was the active one, not just letting someone do with him as they wanted. There was nothing to numb the strain, the tension in his jaw as Foltest put his hand on Roche’s neck and tilted his head backwards until his eyes watered, and as he looked up it was just in time to see Foltest lose his composure entirely.

He was not sure how he felt about the taste of cum on his tongue, pure, undiluted, with nothing to wash it down, but when he tried to get up and find something to wash it down, Foltest seemed to misunderstand. Roche let himself be pulled back down, accepted the embrace of soft pillows, warm skin and whispered reassurances and eventually fell asleep listening to Foltest’s soft snores.

¤

“Good morning,” Foltest said as the gentle tug of the bandages made Roche blink himself awake. “Just checking on your wounds.”

Roche dropped his head down on his crossed arms again and distracted himself with the lingering taste of cock and cum in his mouth as Foltest wiped the goop out of the wounds to check on their condition, picked at a few of them but ended up covering them with what felt like a lot less ointment than before. 

“They are healing well,” Foltest said as he covered the wounds up again. “Very well.”

“I’ve had good care,” Roche mumbled, sitting up so Foltest could wrap him up in bandages again. He frowned slightly when Foltest finished the wrappings by fastening them behind his shoulder, then got to his feet. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Foltest said, and only now did Roche notice that Foltest was once more dressed in his official clothing, crown and all. He closed his eyes when Foltest reached down and patted him on the head and did not open them before he heard the key in the lock. 

Alone again, and locked in. He was not sure if it was better or worse, but at least it meant he could take his time stretching his sore legs and rinse out his mouth. Foltest had a razor at a washing basin but he did not dare touch that even if he could do with a shave, so he settled with using some royal soap and water and a fluffy towel. He decided to keep the towel on and ditch the shorts in Foltest’s hamper as they had started to become a health hazard, figuring if Foltest didn’t mind fucking his face, he wouldn’t mind getting his clothes cleaned either. Or thrown away, whichever came first. 

He spent the morning drinking water while circling the chamber at a slow walk to loosen up his sore muscles, looking at book titles, looking for food and looking for his clothes, which were nowhere to be found. He tried to remember what had happened to them and it took him a while to remember that Foltest had found him wearing only breeches and maybe, but not likely, boots. Perhaps they had been burnt or something, either way he would not miss them, nor did he need them for as long as Foltest decided to keep him here. 

That was another consideration, and one he did not like thinking about. Foltest locked the door but kept no guard outside it. He could be locking the door to protect Roche, but who would come for him in the king’s chambers? The only logical conclusion was that Foltest was locking him in, and not the world out. Perhaps it was a combination, perhaps he had not thought about his actions at all, perhaps locking the door was as much an instinct to him as it was for anyone leaving their home for the day. 

He stopped walking when the pale sun reached its zenith and decided to go back to sleep for a while since he had precious little else to do and it was a good way to deal with the hunger. 

The sun had set when the key turned in the lock once more and Foltest returned. Roche had commandeered a book containing a chronological log of map revisions of Temeria, reading it by the light of a candle which by then had started looking very tasty indeed. 

“I apologize, that took longer than I anticipated,” Foltest said as he closed the door behind him and walked over to the table, put a deep tray on it, stopped, stared at Roche and then just sat down as if all strength had left him. 

“Long day?” Roche asked, when Foltest did not speak or move. “Foltest?”

Foltest blinked at the sound of his own name and looked up. Roche frowned when Foltest just responded by pushing the tray closer to Roche. 

He had a choice. Get Foltest to talk, get him out of his armour, or follow the unspoken order and eat. He felt like he should have gone with one of the first options, but a lifetime of not knowing when the next meal would be on the table and having spent a day with only water to drink overruled everything else. Besides, Foltest had brought what looked like banquet leftovers. There were half emptied crab shells, chicken breasts swimming in sauce in a big bowl and a small mountain of heels from fresh baked loaves and a tin of leftover butter.

He was eating before he had made a conscious decision to dig in, eating a bit of everything and trying to do so slowly so he would not get sick from it, only when he had emptied out every crab shell and eaten both the chicken breasts did he sit back, licking his fingers clean before wiping them on the towel around his waist. 

Foltest had not moved an inch, and Roche considered his options. He had experience with grief. Most men carried it around in one way or the other, and the solution was usually the same. Roche stood and reached down, helping Foltest to his feet. Foltest followed him without conscious thought or question over to the screen and watched as Roche explored and figured out how to get him out of the fancy clothing.

“The banquet was in celebration for the end of my mourning for my family,” Foltest said in a flat, dead voice, watching as Roche opened his formal doublet and pushed it off his shoulders. “I could not argue for more than one year. Now, everything is supposed to be good. Light should come back into my life.”

Roche did not reply as he ran his hands down Foltest’s soft shirt until he could open the buttons of the king’s trousers with practiced and sober ease. He pulled them down and off, folded them neatly and placed them on top of everything else, and then pulled at the ribbons holding Foltest’s white silk socks up. 

“I cannot stand the old castle,” Foltest said, and Roche had to concentrate on his words now as Foltest’s voice was a whisper. “I see Adda everywhere. Hear her voice, she calls my name in the dark, calling me over to feel the child kicking. She rests with my daughter, in a sarcophagus in the crypt. Did you know?”

Roche shook his head as he folded the white socks up, then stood again so he could get Foltest out of his underclothes. 

“I have been there twice. Once, after she was buried, and today. I have nightmares that she was still alive when they put her in there, that she was just sleeping, not dead, and they put her in the sarcophagus and told me she and our daughter were dead because they wanted to be rid of them. That if I lift the lid off, I’ll see a skeleton there with worn down fingerbones, her face twisted in agony, deep scratches on the inside of the lid.”

“She wasn’t alive,” Roche said as he got to his feet and placed his hands on Foltest’s shoulders. “Before they put people in tombs and such they drain all blood and fluid out of them first. She was dead.”

He did not look away when Foltest’s hands loosened the towel around Roche’s hips, wrapped his arms around him and pressed their bodies together, careful to not rub at the wounds too much. 

“And you’re a king,” Roche mumbled into Foltest’s shoulder. “If you want to live here, just move here.”

“It’ll be years before it is done.”

“Building something new is better than digging into depression, and you could always supervise the construction. Besides, this location’s not downwind of the swamps, you’ll save a fortune on scented candles alone.”

The little huff was far from a laugh, but to Roche it felt like a victory, and when Foltest leaned back to look at him, he saw that the smile reached his eyes.

“How come a peasant whore is the only one able to make me feel better these days?” he asked.

“Getting naked with someone tends to help with bad moods,” Roche said as he patted a rhythm on Foltest’s buttocks with his hands. “There’s a reason whore is a job title that won’t go away.”

“You’re a cheeky one,” Foltest said, but he did not sound displeased. “You know you’re talking to your king?”

Roche tilted his head slightly. 

“Can’t see a crown,” he replied. “But if you want me to kneel for your majesty…”

“Not today. Last time was… very enjoyable, but this time I would like to invite you to my bed. I am tired, this feels good, and you should rest as well.”

The bed was warm. Roche had never slept naked with someone else on a feather mattress before, with plenty of feather pillows and a feather duvet as well. The fabric of the linens was so fine it felt cool against his skin as he eased down on his stomach, keeping the pressure off his back. He waited for a little while with his eyes closed, half expecting something would happen but Foltest just fell asleep next to him. 

-

“Foltest? Are you awake?”

“Mh?”

“Can I borrow your razor?”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

-

His back had as good as healed through the night. The wounds had closed, the ointment had prevented scabbing, and the magic or whatever had been in it had healed him up quickly. The scars were pink, shiny and tender, but compared to the result they were meant to achieve, Roche was fine with them. He removed the bandages from his wrists as well, looked at the old burn mark on his left arm for a moment and then proceeded to remove all his stubble. 

In the end, he felt better than he had in years. Sober for once, the persistent hangover was gone, not hungry, clean, well rested. He did not have a job of any kind anymore, but he was alive and that was a start. He could do a lot with that. 

“You look as if you are in a terribly good mood,” Foltest said as Roche returned to the bed. “Your back is healed?”

“It is, and I just had an idea,” Roche said as he sat down on Foltest’s hips on top of the duvet, still naked since he had no clothes. “Can you get away with not showing up in court today?”

“It’s yule, me not bothering my courtiers would likely be seen as a blessing,” Foltest said, looking curious as he reached out to brush the back of his hand to Roche’s half-hard cock. “Does this idea involve not leaving this bed?”

“For a start, if your majesty approves,” Roche said. 

“He does,” Foltest said as he lifted Roche off his hips so he could push the duvet out of the way, sighing softly when bare skin met bare skin. “There’s some lotion in the jar on the windowsill.”

“Yes, sire,” Roche said as he crawled up and reached out for the jar, feeling Foltest’s hands stroke along his skin and grab his hips. He frowned and looked down just in time to see Foltest scoot down between his legs and press a kiss to the head of Roche’s cock. 

For all of Roche’s considerable experience in bed, this was a rare treat. He sometimes got hands, or a reach-around if customers felt generous, when he was younger clients sometimes wanted to please him like that but that ended when his voice got deeper.

Foltest kept the touches feather-light, like a man testing the waters, it could not be more obvious this was his first time with a cock in the face but he seemed amiably curious about it despite the heretical implications. Roche watched as the king reached up and pulled his foreskin back fully, a soft groan escaped him when Foltest licked a drop of pre-cum from the tip, seemed to savour the taste and then swallowed with an audible click of his throat. 

He looked up, grasped for the jar while trying to not move at all since Foltest now wrapped his hand around Roche’s cock and kissed the tip with soft, warm lips. The jar was just covered with a lid, so Roche pushed it off, cringed when it fell to the floor but Foltest just chuckled and added a long, firm stroke of slick tongue to the sweet torture. Roche cursed quietly, stabbed three fingers into the lotion, sniffed it to be sure and then reached back to push them into himself. 

“I cannot believe how easy this is for you,” Foltest said in between soft licks, moving one hand back to feel where Roche was busy spreading lotion in his ass. 

“Done this a lot,” Roche said, breathless as he scooped up some more lotion to make himself nice and slick. Unwilling to wait any longer he moved back until he could grab Foltest’s cock and press it into himself. “Some spend years training at swinging swords, I spent years training to take them.”

“By the gods…” Foltest gasped as Roche sank down all the way, Roche moaned softly in pure relief at the familiar feeling of being slick and comfortably full but did not get to sit still for long. Foltest grabbed his hips, and with more care than Roche expected, rolled them both over. 

“That was not what I meant by easy,” Foltest said as he started fucking into him with long, slow thrusts, pressing kisses to his neck. “I meant… how easy it is for you to be dominated. To let someone you do not know take control over you, see you at your most vulnerable, how you can risk everything like this.”

“Keeps me fed,” Roche said as he pulled his knees back, getting Foltest’s cock as deep as he could while trying to kiss the man so he would shut up. “Come on, harder. I can take it.”

To his frustration, Foltest was not the kind to obey orders. He was moving at an excruciatingly slow pace, making it last, dragging the thick head of his limb across Roche’s prostate, his hand moving up to wrap carefully around his throat. Roche obediently tilted his head back, pressing his windpipe to Foltest’s palm.

“You can,” Foltest said, sounding like he was just now realizing something important, his fingertips pressing at the arteries in Roche’s throat, just hard enough to make his pulse slam in his ears. “You trust me. You trust this to a stranger, just for the chance at coin. You’re here, under me, naked and defenceless, I could kill you at any time and no-one would blink if I had your mutilated corpse thrown into the Pontar.”

“Oh well,” Roche said, moving before Foltest had time to react. He kicked away from the mattress, grabbed Foltest’s arm and flipped them around, Foltest landing on the bed with a thud and a soft groan as Roche grabbed his wrists, pressing them into the ridiculously soft linen. “Best prove myself worthy for a repeat performance, then?”

“If I only my soldiers had half the mind for self-sacrifice as you,” Foltest gasped as Roche sat back on to Foltest’s cock after a couple of failed attempts and started to move. “Just a touch of your lack of fear, I would have ruled the world…”

“I don’t have a lack of fear,” Roche protested as he let go of Foltest’s wrists and leaned back, closing his eyes as he rolled his hips, increasing the pace until firm, strong hands grabbed his thighs in warning, the instinctive warning of a man not wanting to get his lover pregnant. Roche opened his eyes slightly, looked down at Foltest and squeezed.

Foltest was no different to other men in that respect. He came quick and hard, doing a half-hearted attempt at pulling out in time but in the end he laid there tired and dazed, gasping softly as Roche shifted his weight onto his knees. It was Roche’s turn to gasp when Foltest’s hands held him down, effectively stopping him from getting up.

“Sire…?” Roche whispered, seeing Foltest watching him, his thumbs stroking the dark stubble around the base of Roche’s cock which was still hard and neglected, but he did not expect clients to care about that. He should have known that Foltest would.

“Can you come like this?” Foltest asked after half an eternity of just watching Roche breathe. Roche tilted his head just slightly and was about to ask for clarification just as Foltest pushed his hand in between them, pressing his fingers into the sloppy mess of cum and lotion in Roche’s ass, wiggling them in side by side with his own softening cock. It was not much of a stretch, but Foltest had big hands, coarse and roughened by swordplay and riding and he must have had some basic knowledge of male anatomy to know where to touch Roche like that. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just there, press down there,” Roche whispered, his fingers digging into Foltest’s thighs until his knuckles whitened while Foltest watched him like a cat watching prey, studying his expression and chasing Roche’s climax with the intensity of a general following the ebb and flow of a won battle. “Rub it like-... yes, oh fuck yeah…”

“You look like a cat in heat, boy,” Foltest chuckled as he sat up and pushed Roche backwards into the mattress. It made his now soft cock slip out of Roche’s slick arse, but Foltest just seemed to take it as an invitation to fit more fingers into him. The sound of it was utterly obscene, a wet squelching sound as he pushed hard into Roche’s body, fingers pressing against what he had quickly come to know as the spot to make Vernon Roche say and do almost anything. He watched as Roche kicked helplessly against the mattress, trapped as he was with no-where to move as his cock twitched against his stomach. 

“You did not answer me,” Foltest said, holding Roche’s hips down. “Can you come like this?”

“Yes, just, more,” Roche gasped, grabbing the sheets to keep still as Foltest looked at him, then down, and added a fourth finger. The stretch burned just enough to make him feel taken, like this was possibly something forced on him and it made it easier to give in.

“Then do as I command.”

Roche did.

He was aware of being watched as he finally managed to reel in his scattered thoughts enough to be aware of Foltest pulling his fingers out of him, one by one and slow enough that Roche knew Foltest was studying the results of what he had done. If he had any shame at all, and after over a decade working the streets he had precious little left of that, he would probably have felt something else than just the mild satisfaction of a job well done as Foltest watched him, looking sated and flushed and a lot more himself than he had the past few days.

“You said… this was a start,” Foltest mumbled as Roche carefully manoeuvred himself off the bed, trying to not spill anything on the sheets. Roche figured Foltest would not mind as he tip-toed into the garderobe and grabbed a towel to clean himself up, then took another back to Foltest who reclined against the pillow to let Roche do the job for him. “What is the next step?”

“Where can we get street clothes?”

It proved that Foltest did not have to go far. He disappeared for five minutes and returned with sturdy wool clothes covered in masonry dust. Roche considered asking if he had found the clothes or if he had commanded two masons to just strip naked.

“Have you never gone undercover before?” Roche asked half an hour later as he used the piece of coal to enhance Foltest’s features. He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as Foltest wrinkled his nose, not quite yet believing in the power of transformation offered by burnt pinewood. Truth was that he looked about twenty years older, and like he had worked in a smithy for the last three decades. The fine coal powder settled on his barely there stubble, thinned his already narrow face, crooked his nose and narrowed his lips. He had also managed to fake a bit of a frown line and thickened his eyebrows. They had used more of the lotion to grease up his hair and added flour to it to add a touch of grey to his temples, not enough to look fake, but enough to add to his age.

“I look like a peasant version of my father,” Foltest said, sounding like he was stuck between amusement and pure horror at the sight of himself. “How do you think we’ll get out of here, looking like we would need three rounds of washing before being considered decent enough to roll in the gutter?”

“It is not that bad, you look… like a man of a solid trade, a couple of years older than you really are,” Roche said diplomatically as he messed up himself a little as well. Not like he needed it, but it did lower the king’s shoulders somewhat. “No peasant has plucked eyebrows, sire, and looking like you’ve been taking a few punches to the nose is not a bad thing on the street.”

“I’ll punch your nose…” the king grumbled as he pulled his rough wool cloak on and wrapped a belt around his waist, but Roche smiled to himself either way. “And how do you propose we get out of here? It is not as if the guards w-”

Roche glanced over his shoulder as Foltest turned around at the sound of the click. Foltest raised his coal darkened eyebrows in surprise as Roche pushed the concealed trap door in the closet until it opened fully, revealing the ladder leading down into the wall. 

“How…?”

“The floor is colder on this side of the closet, I noticed it while you were at the banquet,” Roche said as he descended into the darkness. He only had to wait for a moment or so before Foltest followed him carrying a lit candle, barely illuminating the low, narrow corridor. It was steep, descending rapidly into the walls of the keep. 

It was a nicely built little secret tunnel, something Roche had not expected to find but he was pleased to see it now. It was constructed inside the castle walls, with no openings for air or light to shine in or out, and with top locked trapdoors with the hinges going the right direction as well. They kept passing heavy iron bar doors, unlocked and nearly merging with the walls but ready to be closed at any moment.

“Do you like it?” Foltest asked as they crawled under a divider. 

“I do,” Roche replied as he dodged under another low beam, feeling Foltest following him so close they almost touched. “Someone very paranoid thought up this construction.”

“Perhaps an architect whose entire life and reputation relies on it,” Foltest said casually. “Prompted by a king with deep dungeons who would like to sneak out now and then.”

“Sneak away from what?” Roche asked as he came to a junction. He pictured what he knew of the castle in his mind, found it was very little, decided to trust his instincts and chose the path down towards the river.

“Responsibilities,” Foltest said as they descended deeper, Roche suspected they were under the river by now but still the walls were dry as paper. “Being me. King Foltest, elevated and mostly just… lied to. I wish to know everything, Vernon, so how can I know what goes on when all everyone does is attempt to wrap me up in velvet and comfort and blind ignorance.”

“Sounds like you need allies, sire,” Roche said as he stepped over a drain in the floor, looked behind himself and watched Foltest inspect the drain by candlelight for a moment. The drain was almost completely dry, a testament to the skill of the masons. Foltest must have come to the same conclusion because he looked up at Roche and nodded to himself. Foltest looked bright eyed in the dark, pale against the pitch black behind him.

“Allies on the streets,” Foltest finally agreed as he carefully stepped over the grille and followed Roche once more. “Someone who has no reason to scratch the backs of the court? Someone who has no chance or need to climb the social ladders?”

“Loyal to you, and no-one else,” Roche said as they started walking uphill again, the narrow corridor rising until the steep flagstones turned into stairs. “In the army too. Soldiers talk.”

“You are, if possible, more paranoid than I am,” Foltest said and Roche could hear the smile as they came to the end of the corridor. Roche wasted no time climbing the iron bars and opening the lock of the hatch, and together they managed to push it open far enough to peek outside.

It was early evening, and the hatch opened under an abandoned fishing dock on the west side of the castle. Roche snuck out first, checked their surroundings and found no threats, so he crept back under the docks and helped Foltest get out as well, taking his king by the arm to guide him to the safety of the trees by the riverbank.

“What’s the rush?” Foltest grunted as Roche pinched the flame from his candle and touched a finger to his lips.

“There’re elves in these woods, sire,” Roche whispered, keeping Foltest between himself and a sturdy oak tree as he stood still, watched and listened. Elves always betrayed themselves, they thought themselves invisible, but Roche knew it was far from the truth. If one knew how to look, one could see. A glint of eyes here, a shadow deeper than they should be there, something standing still when it should be moving. “A few of them were even watching me when I…”

“Laid your mother to rest,” Foltest finished for him.

“Yeah…”

“And it would be bad if you got your king killed in the woods, hm?” Foltest whispered. “Perhaps that was your plan all along, lure me out of the castle to let your elven friends capture a king?”

“I’m not a traitor,” Roche protested, still keeping an eye on the trees as he took Foltest by the arm and pulled him along. “I’m many things, but not a traitor.” 

“I believe you.”

Foltest was not an idiot. Roche had half expected him to accidentally reveal his true identity to the guards by the gate, but Foltest presented himself as sir Crevan, master mason from Maribor and upon being asked why he or his apprentice carried no tools, Foltest rallied generations of indignant royal bloodline and started on a surprisingly convincing rant about delivery schedules, cost efficiency of mobile workshops and the importance of trade tool, equipment and consumables accountability in a sustainable and financially sound masonry enterprise and how the guards could not even begin to grasp the importance of it all until the guards confirmed they did not grasp nor did they care to grasp any of it and let them into the trade quarter to shut Foltest up.

The trade quarter was such a contrast to the silence and tranquillity of Foltest’s chambers in the castle that Roche felt dizzy for a moment. Foltest, on the other hand, looked like a toddler having been given five orens all to himself to spend at the country fair. He did not say anything, just took Roche’s hand and dragged him along down the street towards the marketplace.

Yule meant Vizima came to life. No-one waged war during Yule, it was a time for feasting, friends and family and brightening the darkest hours of the year with light, games and spending a little more of everything than one could truly afford. It was a good time to be a whore, it was a good time to be in any kind of trade when the world felt starved of cheer.

The streets of the trade quarter were dressed for the occasion. Candles flickered in painted lanterns to light up the dark morning, people clad in wool, furs and big hats wandered the streets between colourful stalls offering warm drinks, gifts and foods from all over the continent. It seemed everyone in Vizima were out in the streets, the weather held up and a light dusting of fresh snow and a cold spell had covered the downtrodden, muddy slush that usually filled the streets at this time like a white shroud. Foltest dragged Roche along from stall to stall, sampling treats and buying drinks, chatting loudly with the people and by some miracle did not get recognized by any of them.

Roche found that even if Foltest had a surprisingly good idea of the layout of the city, he had not seen it without everyone bowing and scraping and being on their best behaviour. To some it might have been a shock, Roche had seen the reaction of nobles whenever commoners mistook them for their own class, but Foltest seemed to enjoy it all the more. He was loud, attracted attention like a lamp in a basement full of moths, and by the time the sun went down, Foltest had entered two dice tournaments, won one of them, bought Yule presents for Roche and each of his personal guards, spent an hour finding boxes and ribbons to wrap them up, and then bullied his way into leading a guided tour of the quarter by knowing more about its history than the guide.

He was telling animatedly about the old gate that was now known as the Cemetery gate and how the walls had to be fortified with monsters in mind when what Roche had been waiting for eventually happened.

“We don’t want your kind here!”

The shout was one Roche had heard most of his life, and he reacted instinctively. The only difference was that this time the thrown rocks were not aimed at him, but at a few dwarves who had tagged along on the impromptu extension of the guided tour. He pushed his way through the small crowd, those closest to the falling rocks ran into the ones by the gate trying to push forward to see what was going on. All in all, Roche knew he should not get involved but they were just a few paces away from the guard house and this was bound to get attention. He did not want to be the one responsible for exposing his king, much less land his king in jail.

He pushed through the last spectators and barrelled shoulder first into the first man on his personal shit-list, pushed him into another thug and swung a fist out at the third and -then- the whorehouse down the street opened for the night, timed perfectly with the end of the dice-tournament in the nearby inn, which again meant that a lot of men were coming to either celebrate or drown their sorrows in tits and fisstech. The impromptu little brawl was on the street between the two buildings, and if there was something Vizima loved better than whores, dice and yule, it was a street-fight they could blame on non-humans.

As the patrons from the inn surged up the narrow stairs to reach the fight, the rumble and roar of it alerted the city guard in their nearby quarters. Roche put down the guy he had pinned to a wall and turned to try and find Foltest before it was too late. He dodged a club without really seeing it, kicked the man swinging it and grabbed the club as it fell along with its shrieking wielder. Hands grasped at him as he pushed through the crowd, trying to keep ahead of the guards while searching, a knife flew through the air and that was too much even for Vizima, this was a civilized quarter after all, so human, non humans, nobles and whores alike joined forces to subdue the wannabe assassin. Roche caught a glimpse of wrist-knives and desperate eyes under a deep hood and just behind the idiot stood Foltest who had just caught on to the situation.

He had to chance it, especially when the teen started swinging his wrist knives like the amateur he was, with no clear target in sight or in mind but in a crowd like this, even an amateur did not need good aim or skills to cut down bystanders.

“Sire!” he yelled and saw Foltest react, saw his coal-lined eyes find him in the crowd and nodded as he pushed a shrieking woman out of harm’s way. The king caught the club, took aim, and ended the assassin’s career permanently with a hit that was much too wet sounding to be mended.

A river of blood poured out of the hood as the teen slumped to the ground, Foltest dropped the club on top of the corpse with an expression of utmost contempt, did not realise that he -was- a commoner in this situation and that the guards coming his way were coming for him.

Roche scrambled over and past fleeing civilians until he reached Foltest who finally caught on to the danger he was in, grabbed his king by the hand and pulled him towards the cemetery gates.

“Didn’t you hear my guided tour, there’re monsters in there!” Foltest yelled.

“There’s worse monsters back there!” Roche yelled back as he sprinted through the graveyard and prayed to gods he did not believe in that the aghouls had eaten their fill or had been beaten down for now. Lit lanterns all around the graveyard made the shadows flicker and by the time he reached the next gate he was seeing monsters everywhere to the point that the gravedigger did not even question them as he opened the side-door after half an eternity of Roche and Foltest hammering on the door and swearing they were humans and very much alive. Foltest threw a few orens at the man to shut him up as they legged it down the road, past the temple quarter guard house and the finer houses until they could hide among the buildings and debris of the filthy back streets.

They finally came to rest in a dark valley, slumping against reasonably clean barrels and slimy walls and trying to catch their breaths.

“Worse monsters?” Foltest managed to say after he stopped wheezing.

“Humans do so much worse than aghouls,” Roche said and coughed. “’specially guards with someone to blame.”

Foltest did not comment, and Roche tried to ready himself for any reaction as he turned to face his king. Whatever he had expected, it was not seeing Foltest sitting there with a huge smile on his face, a pink blush from the exertion on his cheeks and sweat painting rivers of tan skin in the coal enhanced frown-lines.

His own reaction had to show because Foltest leaned back and laughed heartily.

“That, my dearest Vernon,” he chuckled, still a bit out of breath as he got to his feet, eyes shining brightly in the low light. “That was the most fun I’ve had since they put that thrice-damned crown on my head. But do tell me, where are we?”

“South-west area of the Temple-quarters,” Roche mumbled and caught Foltest as he swayed into him. “No-one will follow us here. The gangs and the whores deal justice in these parts.”

“Are you taking me home, Vernon?” Foltest grinned while whispering theatrically into his ear. “Is this where you live?”

“Most of the time,” Roche replied, trying to find out exactly which back street they had stumbled into. Pissing off any of the gangs would be a bad move. The whores would be icily polite, but the gangs would punch his teeth out and sell them for dentures while leaving his bloodless remains to the rats. Fortunately the barrels were marked with forged stamps from the breweries in Mahakam, that meant they were in one of the alleys behind the inn and therefore on neutral ground.

“Is this where you work?” Foltest asked, his voice still velvety soft and drunk on adrenaline and mulled wine. “Is this where I could pick up someone like you?”

“Possibly,” Roche replied, actually picking up on Foltest’s words now that he could lower his guard. “Unless you’d want a girl.”

“I do not want a girl, I want you,” Foltest said as he ran his hands up Roche’s sides under his shirt, exposing his skin even as Roche tried to pull the shirt back down again. “What would you do, Vernon?” Foltest mumbled as he crowded Roche towards the wall, fingers roaming over the scars on his back. “Would you take me to a room, a private place? Could I take you home? Would you kneel, or let me take you where you stand?”

Trying to think with a brain that was heavily inhibited by a distinct lack of alcohol, a whore’s instinct of shutting down and knowing he had to keep Foltest safe and happy proved to be difficult, so he defaulted to instincts.

“I’d ask to see coin,” Roche said, and watched as Foltest spilled orens on the ground as he pulled a fistful from his pocket, “Then ask what you wanted…”

“I want to fuck you,” Foltest said, his voice dropping an octave as he took Roche’s hand and pressed it to his erection, hard enough to be felt through the thick mason’s pants.

“If… if you were not in too much of a hurry, I’d take you to a safe street,” Roche stuttered as the sound of guards marching sounded on the road above. Foltest noticed them too, trying and failing to hide the thrill in his gaze as he rubbed Roche’s hand to his crotch.

“And if I was in too much of a hurry to wait?” Foltest asked as he glanced up and down the alley. “If I could not or would not wait?”

“That costs extra,” Roche said automatically and got even more orens pushed down his shirt as Foltest grabbed him, turned him around and pushed him face down over a barrel reeking of counterfeit ale gone sour, cat piss and vomit. He grabbed the barrel as his pants were pulled down just enough for the cold night air to brush over his ass and heard Foltest spit into his hand. There were some quick, slick sounds of Foltest stroking himself with one hand, keeping the other hand on Roche’s back as if he had to hold him down for this. Roche reacted automatically, putting on the show wanted for such a situation, he whimpered under his breath and said all the right things as Foltest spat again and with admirable skill or blind luck managed to land the glob on his hole just before his dick, wet and warm from spit, friction and pre-cum pressed into him.

If he had not been fucked that morning it would have been a much rougher ride than it was, it still burned as Foltest bottomed out, grabbed Roche’s left wrist and pinned it to his back as he pulled out slowly and sank back in with a sigh that ended in a growl.

“You best be quiet,” Foltest whispered as a window was opened above, letting out the sound of a private dice game and high-pitched laughter. Roche grit his teeth as Foltest positioned himself, setting a quick, stuttering pace. “If we’re caught, I will not hesitate to give you up to the guards.”

“Yes, sire,” Roche whispered, a bit out of breath as Foltest put his weight on his back and fucked him hard enough to rattle the barrel. At least he would be done quick, like most who chose they had no time to move to some more private location.

Roche’s estimates were right, Foltest’s breath hitched along with his rhythm, a few more stabs of pain and then Foltest stopped entirely, letting Roche feel him finish inside him just in time for someone to yell at them down the alley. Foltest pulled out, a bit quicker than Roche appreciated, pulled Roche’s clothes on and nearly tossed him down the alley, throwing orens in the other direction to effectively stop their pursuer in a shower of gold.

The run this time was far shorter, and far more vertical. Roche rounded two corners with Foltest in hot pursuit and climbed a ladder until he reached the loft of a warehouse, tip-toed down the makeshift corridor between the heavy blankets serving as walls, doors and insulation and dodged under his particular blanket into what he had called home for the past year when not deployed.

It was not much. A bed with a mattress stuffed with straw, a mug, a bowl with rags, a few empty bottles and a shift of clothes he would not mind too much if someone stole. Foltest did not look at any of it, just walked past and dropped flat on his back on the filthy mattress, still looking blissed out.

“Indulge me,” Foltest said as he stretched out on the filthy mattress. “Where did you learn to fight like that? I have never seen soldiers fight in the way you do.”

“On the streets, of course,” Roche said as he pulled all his clothes off, cleaned himself up with stale water and a semi-filthy rag until he felt better. He looked at the bottles that looked like they might have a few sips of vodka left in them, but Foltest turned his head and looked at him, stealing his attention away.

“I did not think street fights were too common in my kingdom,” Foltest mused, looking up when Roche tossed him a damp cloth. He looked at it, sniffed it, shrugged and cleaned his own cock up as well.

“Not street fights,” Roche said as he reached for his clothes, only to get them pulled from his hands by Foltest. 

“What then? Bar brawls?” Foltest asked as he sat up, putting the clothes to the side on the bed. Roche waited, expecting perhaps more sex. Foltest’s hands on his waist seemed to indicate it, but the king just stroked his hands down Roche’s skin, seeming to try and feel his shape under his skin, mould him by touch alone. 

“... we’re in the north…” Roche said slowly, trying but failing to keep a small grunt from escaping him as Foltest’s strong hands cupped his buttocks. “I’m a man getting fucked by men.”

“You’re attacked for it?”

“Sometimes,” Roche admitted, half closing his eyes as Foltest stroked his fingers down Roche’s hips, in between his thighs, feeling the soft skin there. “Sometimes men get… very upset that I tempted them. Or someone decides getting rid of me makes the world a better place, that can happen. Or they try ganging up on me.”

“Rape, you mean.”

“Wouldn’t call it that.”

“For being so wonderfully clever, you can be quite dense,” Foltest said as he pressed a kiss to Roche’s stomach. 

“It’s how life is for those like me,” Roche said quietly. “You hide, fight or die.”

“And you chose to fight.”

“I will always choose to fight.”

“We are much the same, you and I,” Foltest said before biting what little skin he could get his teeth at on Roche’s stomach. “I am a king, bound to my role and my damned throne but at heart I am a soldier. I’m born to explore, fight what can be fought, to conquer and explore.”

“That’s… two explores in one sentence, sire,” Roche said, feeling that considering everything they had done together the past few days, correcting his king could not be the worst of it.

“Two different kinds of explore,” Foltest grunted, wrapping his hands around Roche’s bony knees. “Explore lands and explore other things. Like male whores and brawls.”

Both of them jumped a little as heavy footsteps sounded down the blanket corridor, heavy footsteps and light ones. Roche swallowed thickly as he heard the rustling of clothes, whimpers and guttural grunts. He knew who lived here, but he did not know the clients, and the clients who came up here more often than not were like Foltest. Rich people wanting the lowest of the low for the thrill of it.

“I believe we might have to explore our way back to the castle,” Roche said in a low voice and when he looked back at Foltest, he was pretty sure the other guest of the loft was known to him as well. Foltest nodded, let Roche help him to his feet and together they very quietly made their way down the ladder and into the dark streets again. Without the threat of immediate pursuit, Foltest took the lead.

“Do you know why?” Foltest asked as they wandered through the by now far more peaceful streets of Vizima, back the way they came.

“Why what?”

“Why your preferences are considered so vile and unnatural that they warrant your death?” Foltest asked, keeping his voice low as they walked with exaggerated calm through the trade quarter and the remains of the brawl scattered on the streets.

“Gods gonna damn me to hell or something,” Roche mumbled. “Not sure why they’re so pissed off about it, to be honest, most of my clients turn a blind eye to it all, it seems.”

“While your practices are entirely accepted in the south?”

Roche shrugged as they walked out of the gates and back towards the woods. “Southerners have their ideas…”

“Think, Roche,” Foltest said, his voice a whisper now. “If you figure it out, I’ll make you mine. I have seen what you are, what you can do, and you are wasted as both a whore and a courier. You have until our return to the castle.”

Roche let his legs do the walking as Foltest found the trap door and opened it, climbing down first. He had no reason to think Foltest wanted to make his life worse, he had a hard time coming up with what would be worse. Whoring sober, maybe, but even if Foltest was rough, he was excitedly rough, not cruel.

Foltest had lost what remained of his candle and led the way down the corridor, letting Roche follow, feeling the weight of his yule gift in his jacket pocket and knew he stood no chance anyway. He would do as his king commanded. He would always do as his king commanded, and Foltest knew it. Foltest would make use of it, but all in all, a whore could do worse.

“I think I know,” Roche said carefully, trying to sound like he had given it much thought as Foltest stopped, turned around and looked him in the eye. “I don’t think you did it but… it is about control.”

“Go on,” Foltest said.

“Population control. If I’m a tangible problem they can gang up and do something about, then they will do that as I am an easier target than…the others.”

Foltest nodded, but he was expecting more. “Examples?”

“So say… if I was a priest or something,” Roche said, closing his eyes for a moment. “Say I wanted to take attention away from me stealing from donated money, making men like me a huge threat for people to deal with, that is manageable for everyone, and it keeps their attention on their neighbours, not on their leaders.”

“Placing the blame of a country’s decline upon a small minority that can and will always present in any population, any village, and that requires no other proof of guilt and crimes than accusations whispered in the dark,” Foltest mumbled, sounding pleased as he walked on. “Now. Your reward. I wish to make use of you, as I said, and I want you to be mine. I want you to be loyal to me. I want you to stay sober on duty, and I want to be able to trust you.”

“You-“

“Let me finish before you say anything or make promises,” Foltest said as they started the ascent up the steep stairs towards the king’s chambers. “I expect more of you. So much more, Vernon, and I’m sure you will live up to my expectations. Your tenacity tonight proves it. You said I need loyal men close to me. I need loyal men among the soldiers. I need someone I can trust to do what needs to be done. I want you to be that for me, you and a select group of soldiers you trust to do the same.”

Roche only stopped walking when Foltest stopped in front of the cold fireplace in his own chambers. Foltest turned, looking impossibly regal again in his sweat-streaked mason’s clothing, stinking of sweat, stone and sex.

“I want you to lead a group of special forces,” Foltest said slowly, as if forming the idea in his mind as he spoke. “A commando. Like the elven commandos in the woods, working independently, without rules or being overruled. You will answer only to me, be loyal only to me, you will have my trust.”

Roche realised he had been staring when suddenly Foltest was holding by the shoulders and shaking him gently.

“Sorry, sire, I just…”

“Already making plans,” Foltest said with a big smile, patting Roche heavily on the shoulder. “Good man. We both know you will accept, Vernon. Most of all because you have the talent, the mindset, and I have seen your life and I know the only thing you have to lose is getting fucked raw for coin to afford alcoholism. I want you to say yes, and I want to know what I must do to make it happen.”

“I wish to recruit my own men,” Roche said slowly, his mind racing as Foltest nodded encouragingly. “I want… need. Others like me. The ones with nothing left to lose, I want to give them purpose, fix their loyalty to you, me and Temeria.”

“Outcasts?”

“The street smart ones, yes,” Roche said as Foltest moved to his side, one arm resting across his shoulders. The king looked pleased. He did not look like he was waiting for things to deny him, and the requests Roche made, the requests he had to make, were so blindingly logical to him that they just spilled out as Foltest gently squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll have our own barracks, not a military building in the outskirts, but a house in the city, preferably not too far from here. Nothing fancy, but a place we can call home.”

“Make your pick and it is yours,” Foltest said softly. 

“They’ll be paid a below average salary, and we will all be paid the same,” Roche said. “If they are in for the money alone, they might as well go when they can. I want the loyal ones to stay. We’ll require a monthly food allowance, and also a fund for armour and weapons and repairs.”

“Do continue.”

“We’ll also not have our own horses, we’ll rent when we need them,” Roche said. “And we’ll need a generous prostitute allowance as well.”

There was silence for a little while, until Foltest rubbed his thumb to Roche’s waist and hummed under his breath. “Now that… is surprising. Why would you request this?”

“Because I won’t have them have a go at the civilians,” Roche said. 

“It has been tried before,” Foltest said quietly. “In the past. Rulers ensuring there was… what, one whore for every hundredth soldier? It was never anything but a tragedy.”

“I know what to look out for,” Roche said. “And I know how to treat them. But we will be hated as it is, if we’re not to be hated for taking the local girls as well. People should fear us if they have legitimate reasons to do so, not fear for their children.”

“And if some are… like you?”

“We’ll sort that out as well.”

“And what if not all of your soldiers are as honorable as you, Vernon?” Foltest asked as he hugged Roche tightly for a moment. “What then?”

“Then they’re out,” Roche replied, not really seeing the problem.

“And what name should be given to this… ragged band of honorable cut-throats?” Foltest asked as he turned Roche around and placed his hands on Roche’s shoulders. “As making you part of my army would defy the purpose, you will be my special forces. But you will need a name.”

“Whoremonger brigands?” 

“Vernon.”

“I don’t know,” Roche said. He felt awfully tired. “Something… patriotic, I suppose. But distinctive.”

“Blue is patriotic,” Foltest said with a smile. “The new Temerian blue, for a new Temerian force to be reckoned with.”

“Just… Blue?”

“Of course not. But we won’t delve into heraldry either, we need something subtle.”

They stood in silence, looking at the cold, dark fireplace in the silence of Foltest’s rooms. Someone played a fanfare in the distance. A few moments later the far away sound of yule songs drifted in through the crack in the window and Roche listened to Foltest humming along to a tune Roche did not know.

If someone had told him four days ago, when he set out to try and earn money for his mother’s treatment and returned to find her dead that he would be sober and offered a job after getting repeatedly fucked by King Foltest, he would have thought the vodka had gone bad and tested another bottle to be sure.

Foltest’s hand drifted down along his arm, over to his back, down to his waist and under the filthy clothes so he could reach bare skin and it pulled Roche out of his thoughts and to the present. If Foltest wanted another go, he would not protest but he was rather sore as well. This was why he was busy trying to come up with ways to convince Foltest to fuck his mouth or something instead of actually listening when Foltest spoke next.

“What do you think?”

“Sire?”

“About the name. For the special forces under your command.”

Roche frowned and tried to recall what Foltest might have said while he was worrying about the integrity of his ass, then he noticed Foltest’s fingers stroking over the long, tender scars across the small of his back, over and over again.

“Blue stripes.”

  
  
  



End file.
